


Amour - It’s French for Love

by mandykaysfic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9781295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandykaysfic/pseuds/mandykaysfic
Summary: John finds out Rodney’s fluent in French. He’s not, but he doesn’t care.





	

"Mon dieu! You always have to go and touch something. You can't leave anything alone!" Rodney stomped around the windowless room into which they'd been herded and imprisoned. "J'en ai marre!"

"I do not always go and touch something. I sometimes go and touch something, but not always. For a scientific genius, you can be remarkably inaccurate," said John, examining the only piece of furniture in the room. The wooden table was firmly attached to the floor as far as he could determine. In his head, the thickness of its legs screamed 'club', but he couldn't see a way to detach one...yet. He wished Ronon and Teyla had been with them, but they'd been sent with Lorne's team to assist with negotiations on P4M-723. Sergeants Collins and Ramirez, who'd accompanied him and Rodney, had been locked in the room next door. The walls were too thick for any communication between them.

Rodney joined John at the table. "C’est vraiment des conneries! In no way am I remarkably inaccurate. Au contraire--"

"And what's with the French?" interrupted John. "You flaunt your Canadian-ness at every opportunity, but you don't normally spout French."

"I suppose your next r-r-riposte'," Rodney rolled the R, somehow sounding even more French, "will be on the Canadian use of 'eh', eh?" He glared at John.

"Er, no, but I thought you were from Alberta, not Quebec."

"Sacrebleu! I heard that 'eh' you didn't say," said Rodney as he waved his hands in the air. "And anyway, you wouldn't add an 'eh' there. Just because I'm not from Quebec doesn't mean I can't speak French. Zut alors!" he continued, using on purpose the second most popular French phrase so beloved by the media that people rarely used in conversation. "J'en ai ral le cul."

"Is this really the time to be arguing semantics when you should be concentrating on getting us out of here?"

" _I_ should be concentrating getting us out of here? What's wrong with _you_ concentrating on getting us out of here? You're the one that made their precious thingamabob light up." Rodney always watched for the moment John's eyes lit with pleasure whenever something keyed to the ATA gene turned on, even though there was a fair and reasonable chance the outcome would land them in trouble. As usual, his eyes had sparkled when the orb flashed blue. Sometimes simply talking about turning on the tech caused a brief crinkling of his eyes and the barest hint of a grin; Rodney kept an eye open for that as well.

"You know full well I didn't do that on purpose. Councilman Granther handed it to me during their welcome ceremony. What was I supposed to do? Let it fall? Anyway, I'm not the one who insulted their prime minister."

"Oh, putain!" Rodney hadn't meant to be insulting, by referring to someone who was a good twelve inches shorter in height than the others in the as 'that little man'. He probably shouldn't have pointed to him either; pointing was rude, he could hear his grandmother's voice telling him.

"His name is Prentellan, not Putin. Prime Minister Prentellan," enunciated John. "You need to make an effort to get people's names right."

"Putain! Putain! Putain! I said _putain_ , not Putin, even if he does resemble Vladimir. Can't you hear the difference?"

"No," replied John, convinced Rodney had purposely slightly mispronounced one or the other of the words so they would sound the same.

"On t'a bercé trop près du mur? Is that why you can't tell the difference between them?"

John turned away. As the stream of French poured from Rodney's mouth he could feel himself hardening. "Tish, that's French!" he muttered, and wished Rodney would extend his hand just so. At thirteen, Morticia's _Il me perce comme un poignard_ made his insides cruddle. He'd read that word somewhere as a kid; one day he'd get around to looking up what it actually meant, but it perfectly described what he felt. When Gomez Addams kissed his way up Morticia's arm, every French word, (even the ones he found out later weren't really French that she made sound French), increased that amazing sensation. At sixteen, Jean-Pierre, the French exchange student had murmured phrases he'd laughingly refused to translate into John's ear when they made out. It took a few more years to realize a lover melodiously speaking French was for him a bullet proof kink. He didn't even need to know what they said as long as it was in French. Rodney speaking French was one of his top ten fantasies and they weren't even having sex in that one. Rodney speaking French during any one of his other nine top fantasies only made them better.

Right now, he was certain Rodney had just insulted him, and that most of the rest of his earlier words had been curses, however this really wasn't the time or place and he squashed the urge to goad Rodney into flinging more French his way. 

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"No. You said something that wasn't nothing, which I believe makes you the inaccurate one."

"Er, yes," agreed John ruefully. He ran a hand through his hair and stroked his chin.

Rodney was on to that straight away. The double stroke hair-chin maneuver usually indicated John had something to hide. "Tell me what you said."

"It was just a throwaway line."

"Je m'en fiche." Arms akimbo, Rodney tapped his foot, silently indicating John should elaborate.

Already on edge, Rodney's delicious French proved John's undoing. "Tish, that's French!" he blurted. "I said 'Tish, that's French.'"

Speechless for once, Rodney gaped at John.

John rushed to explain. "Listen, I've never heard you speaking French. You talk Russian with Zelenka sometimes, and your English can be, ah, colorful. Not to mention you speak math and code and physics. I didn't know you were fluent in French."

"None of my staff are French, which would be why you've never heard me use it. Anyway, I didn't know you were fluent in French either."

"I'm not," admitted John. "I learnt Spanish and school and I can get by in a few other languages from where I was stationed, but I don't speak French."

" Tu me prends la tête," said Rodney experimentally.

John shook his head. "Souffle, bidet, ooh la la, and thanks to Captain Picard, merde."

"You really have no idea what I've said."

"I really don't." John had no intention of confessing he'd signed up for French lessons, but dropped out when he realized all he ever did was get hard as soon as the teacher began speaking.

Rodney eyed John thoughtfully. Their captors could return at any moment and they'd find out what their future held. This was an opportunity that may never come again.

"Je pense toujours à toi," he said, watching closely for John's smallest reaction. "Je suis fou de toi. Je veux être avec toi."

He saw a faint strip of color tint along the top of John's cheeks, a few drops of sweat bead on his forehead, and his pupils dilate. He noted the indrawn breath John tried to disguise, and the way John hid his hand behind his back after it clenched into a white-knuckled fist and drew Rodney's gaze down. He eyed the bulge there was no mistaking. "John?"

"Rodney," responded John, wishing he knew exactly what Rodney had said, but guessing from the change in tone it didn’t involve cursing. He did know ‘je’ was I, and ‘vous’ meant you. I something you, Rodney had said. John could substitute 'something' with a whole list of single words, beginning with 'like', and 'want' and 'need', before moving right along to phrases that included 'like to be with you', 'want to kiss you' and 'need to fuck you'. He tried not to think about the one phrase he really wanted to hear. 

Rodney opened his mouth, but a noise at the door indicated their time alone had come to an end. "Je t'adore, je t'aime de tout mon coeur," he said hurriedly, not knowing if he'd get another chance to tell John he loved him, or even find out whether it was something John wanted to hear. Hearing Rodney speak French turned John on had been obvious, but whether it was Rodney himself, the French or the Rodney-French combination, he didn't know.

John desperately tried to get his brain back into mission mode. Thanks to that song, he recognized the phrase _je t'aime_. Rodney just told John he loved him. In French. John now had the best possible reason to get them, all of them, back to Atlantis in one piece.

Prime Minister Prentellan, Councilman Granther, Most Senior Priest Methuen who carried the crystal ball responsible for the current predicament, four large, well-built men who could only be security guards, and a young woman who had definitely not been with the welcoming party entered the room.

"You must think us terribly rude," began Prentellan smoothly.

"Yes, we do," said Rodney, unable to help himself.

"I wouldn't call it rude, exactly," said John, straightening up and sending a silent message that he agreed with Rodney, but was too polite to say so.

"Dear friends," continued Prentellan, "you surprised us when the Orb of the Ancestors lit up. According to our holy text, you were not expected for another two years."

"What do you mean...expected?" asked John. He had a sinking feeling.

"The one destined to wed Susandra, the last remaining Guardian of the Shield of the Ancestors, would arrive through the Ring of the Ancestors when the stars aligned correctly. Together, they would produce the next Guardian, and thereby ensure the perfect weather necessary to grow plentiful crops for our people. I most sincerely apologize for the way in which we rushed you into this chamber, but of course you see we simply could not allow you to leave. 

"Allow me to introduce Susandra. Step forward, my dear. Susandra, this is Colonel John Sheppard, recognized by the Orb of the Ancestors. Colonel John Sheppard, I present to you Susandra Shield-Guardian."

"Colonel John Sheppard," murmured Susandra, lowering her eyelids and remaining perfectly still.

"You must excuse her. This has come as a great surprise," said Prentellan, not completely hiding his annoyance at Susandra's cool response.

"I'd like some clarification," interrupted Rodney. "Firstly, you didn't lock us up because I got your name wrong or pointed at you." He nodded triumphantly to John when Prentellan laughed and agreed that pointing and mispronouncing a name the first time one was introduced were not offences.  
"The secondly, and more importantly, if you weren't expecting Susannah's future husband to appear for two years, why did you hand the Orb to Colonel Sheppard?"

"It is part of the Welcome Ritual," explained Granther. "Do your people not have such rituals?"

"We usually just shake hands," said John.

"Oh." Granther plainly didn't think much of the simple greeting, but didn't like to say so to the future husband of the Guardian of the Shield of the Ancestors.

In the meantime, Methuen had handed the Orb to Susandra. It shone blue, just as it had when John held it. "Go ahead, Guardian."

She handed it to John, who once again took it rather than drop it. To everyone's astonishment, the light faded.

"What is this?" 

"What does it mean?" 

"Did you think it off?" whispered Rodney under cover of the babble of questions and exclamations.

"No. I didn't have a chance to."

"He is not my intended!" Susandra's voice rang out clearly.

"No! No, he's not!" agreed Rodney loudly. 

"The Orb has spoken. I'm not the one," said John thankfully. 

"Actually, it didn't speak," began Rodney.

"Not now, Rodney."

At Methuen's insistence, Susandra and John passed the Orb back and forward several times. While it glowed brightly for Susandra, it remained stubbornly dull for John. Methuen could offer no explanation for the phenomenon and vowed to study the Words of the Ancestors in even great depth than he already had, in the hope they had provided a veiled hint regarding procedure such an occurrence.

"This is a great embarrassment," said Prentellan, after conferring briefly with the others. "Allow us to compensate you with some extra grain. We also have a marvelous bean that when it is roasted and ground, can be made into the most exquisite of beverages. Fetch our guests' belongings and bring them to the meeting room," he directed the bodyguards.

"Your offer of compensation is most graciously accepted. We also wish Susandra Shield-Guardian every success when her future husband arrives in two years. Now, if you would be so kind as to release the rest of my team, we can get down to business," said John, making a mental note to place this world off limits to all of the gene-carriers, particularly in two years’ time.

"Coffee beans, please be coffee beans," prayed Rodney hopefully.

**

Back on Atlantis, the rich aroma of coffee filled the Mess, most of the labs and offices, and even wafted the corridors. Rodney swore the smell alone was responsible for the increase in brainpower among the scientists. He waved John away whenever he appeared in the lab. "Too busy, too busy," he mumbled, accepting another mug of hot coffee with one hand while he tapped away on his computer with the other.

A week had passed by the time he found himself having a break and sitting on the pier with John, sharing a beer or three instead of coffee.

"So, I haven't heard you speak French since we got back," said John casually. He'd rehearsed a dozen ways to broach Rodney's declaration, and in the end, decided to wing it.

"I thought I told you, I don't have anyone French in my department at this time."

"Yeah, that's right. You did. But you never explained why you suddenly started speaking French in the first place."

"Oh, that. Er, well, um...."

"Spit it out, Rodney. It can't be that bad."

"It's stupid, really. I'd say don't laugh, but you will anyway. You remember Matthew, the priest guy."

"Most Senior Priest Methuen."

"Yes, him. Whoever. Grateful though I am for their coffee, I'm not likely to ever meet him again."

"No gene-carriers will get the chance to meet any of them. So, what about him?"

"He's the spitting image of my first French teacher, who had a nasty habit of slapping us and worse any time we spoke anything other than French in his class. I had him for three years. I learnt, along with everyone else, to speak nothing but French in his presence. One time I met him in the supermarket when I was thirteen. I spoke to him in English and he slapped me in front of everyone. He did it again when I bumped into him a couple of years later, and even when we ended up in the same bar. After that, I made sure I spoke in French whenever I saw him." Rodney shuddered and waited for the laugh that didn't come.

"Some things have a habit of staying with you," said John sympathetically, staring out at the ocean.

"Speaking of which...."

Here it was, the moment John had been dreading. Rodney was entitled to an explanation for John's behavior. Of all the scenarios he envisaged, he hadn't imagined Rodney sticking out his arm in front of John with his wrist flexed.

"Il me perce comme un poignard."

"Tish! I mean, Rodney! That's French!" John risked a quick glance at Rodney's face. Rodney's eyes were sparking and a small smile played over his face. John grinned back and dropped a kiss on the back of Rodney's hand.

"Oui!"

"Cara mia!" John kissed the back of Rodney's wrist.

"Mon Sauvage." 

Rodney wasn't sticking strictly to the script as that phrase had come from a different episode, but John didn't care, and placed a row of kisses along the top of Rodney's forearm. Rodney had a different endearment for the kiss to his elbow and then each one that landed on his arm as John worked his way to Rodney’s shoulder.

“Je t'adore,” Rodney groaned as John nuzzled into his neck.

“Je t'aime,” John whispered into Rodney’s ear, finding the words easier to say in French than English.

“John! That’s French!”

“Bubbeleh!”

“That’s not. It means—“

“We can discuss it later. Now shut up, Rodney and kiss me.”

He did.

The end!

**Author's Note:**

> Mon dieu = my god  
> J'en ai marre = I'm fed up  
> C’est vraiment des conneries = that is really bullshit  
> Au contraire = on the contrary  
> Sacrebleu = old fashioned French curse equivalent to taking the Lord's name in vain  
> Zut alors = also an old fashioned curse loosely translated as darn!  
> J'en ai ral le cul = I am fed up with all this shit, familiar version  
> Putain = Fuck, from whore.  
> On t'a bercé trop près du mur? = As a child, was your cradle rocked too close to the wall?  
> Il me perce comme un poignard = It stabs me like a dagger  
> Je m'en fiche = I don't give a damn  
> Tu me prends la tête = You're doing my head in  
> Je pense toujours à vous = I'm thinking of you  
> Je suis fou de toi = I'm crazy about you  
> Je veux être avec toi = I want to be with you  
> Je t'adore = I adore you  
> Je t'aime de tout mon Coeur = I love you with all my heart  
> Mon sauvage = my savage
> 
> Thanks also to those concerned with the television series ''The Addams Family', Morticia and Gomez. Check out the 'Tish, that's French' clips on you tube.


End file.
